Til Death
by avengejohnlock
Summary: Kurt just wanted a night off with his new aquaintence from the music store. It's not his fault he ends up seduced and stalked. It's not his fault a cold-hearted killer decides to love him. It's not his fault he falls right back.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I choose to enter into the world of writing fanfiction with darkness and oddity. Of course I do. I'm not too sure how to do this, but I thank you for clicking on the story link, assuming you didn't do it accidentally. This story will have character deaths (not Klaine), violence in sexual and non-sexual ways, shitloads of possessive!Blaine, who isn't afraid to go waaaay out of his way to get what he wants, and what is probably inoppropriately timed humor. It's M for a reason, and I really don't care if your thirteen or fifty, you know your maturity level, but if you're not okay with sex and extremely dark themes, then don't read it. Simple.**

* * *

"Do you love me, Kurt?"

His fingers pause their tapping against the bottom of the thick glass panel, the panel separating him from the intense, hazel-eyed boy on the other side. He makes sure to look him dead in the eye when he answers.

"Always."

Blaine doesn't smile like he usually does when Kurt admits his feelings-which he doesn't often-, he just sits there motionless, keeping his stare unblinking. Kurt feels, well, not uncomfortable, but something close to it. He studies Blaine carefully. He's never seen this exact look, but it has enough familiar traits for him to gather that whatever's going on underneath that mop of hair is not innocent.

Not that Blaine's thoughts ever really turn out to be innocent, in most respects. Simple? Maybe. Innocent? Never.

"What are you thinking?"

Blaine blinks, backing off the look a bit, putting back on his cool mask, the one that most of the world is terrified of.

The mask doesn't much scare Kurt. He's seen Blaine with several of his less pleasant expressions.

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Why can I almost guarantee that that's a lie?"

Blaine smiles at that, his mask breaking for a quick second. He only ever smiles like that, with soft, gentle, genuine affection, when he's looking at Kurt. At least Kurt's pretty sure it's the only time Blaine smiles like that. Blaine told him so, and well, Blaine's been on a streak of brutal honesty recently.

"Because you know me."

The bell rings then, the little, irritating one that Kurt both loves and hates. He loves it because it effectively ends his weekly, confusing conversations with Blaine for him, so that he doesn't have to worry about hurting Blaine's feelings by trying to end them himself.

He hates it for the same reason.

"I'll see you next week," he offers quietly. Sometimes he wishes he wasn't allowed to see Blaine every Tuesday.

Sometimes he wishes he could see him every day. It depends on whether he feels like he should want to get over Blaine or be happy. He highly doubts he'll be able to ever have both.

Blaine smirks at him a little. It's the same smirk he had when Kurt had first seen him. (He isn't sure what Blaine looked like when he'd first seen him. That happened a bit before they'd officially met.)

"Yes. Yes you will."

Kurt shivers at his tone. It's the same tone. The one he always used before…..

Before.

Blaine notices, his eyes sweeping Kurt's body hungrily.

"I still scare you, don't I?" His eyes return to Kurt's face, a small, tiny sparkle of what Kurt would like to think is regret shining amongst a blend of brown and green.

It probably isn't.

"Even through the glass I scare you, don't I, Kurt?"

"No," he answers honestly. "You don't scare me."

Blaine raises an eyebrow.

"Then what do you feel? Huh, Kurt? What do you feel when you look at me?"

Kurt pauses, taking a moment to let his own blue orbs roam across the boy sitting, waiting, across the glass.

"I don't know."

He walks away.

Blaine sits behind the glass, watching him go, following him carefully with his eyes. He'd seen one of the guards push Kurt on one of the other boy's first visits.

He'd lodged a toothbrush handle into the man's neck by noon the next day. His dental care has since been declining.

Kurt manages to leave without incident. Blaine smirks. He'd doubted the likelihood of anyone touching his boy after the toothbrush incident, but it always gave him a sense of satisfaction to know that, even when he was imprisoned, he controlled those around him.

Those other then Kurt, that is. Kurt could be heavily influenced and downright manipulated, but he was never a cut-out, someone Blaine could predict. Kurt always zigged when he thought he would zag. It was one of the things that had drawn Blaine to him.

That, and those perfect, pouty pink lips and those wide, innocent eyes held together with smooth, pale skin that showed off every little cut, bite and bruise….

He liked Kurt for a number of reasons.

"Anderson!"

He looks up, recognizing the voice and smiling politely.

"Hello, Charles."

The guard doesn't look amused. He never did though, the poor man. It must be awful to go through life without a sense of humor.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Your visitor left!"

"I have another one coming," Blaine states simply. He did. "Mr. Ryerson from Porcelain Perfection is due any moment now. I've scheduled him specifically after Kurt so I won't have to walk all the way back to my cell just to turn around and come back. There are way too many airtight doors that have to be taken care of between the two points for it to be energy efficient."

Charles just looks at him, slightly unnerved. Blaine allows himself a small chuckle at the larger man's reaction. You'd think that he'd have gotten used to an inmate that didn't communicate entirely through grunts and swear words, but apparently not.

The other man reaches for his radio, presumably to call for back up. Blaine sighs. He'd love to kick that damn ancient box of a radio out of Charles' meaty hand. He still has to have his feet chained to the ground because of the last time he did that.

"Yoo-hoo! Mr. Anderson! Cell block thirteen?"

Blaine grins up at Charles.

"That'd be my three o'clock. Send him on over, would ya?"

To his credit, Charles lets it go. Blaine smiles. Maybe he is learning.

His business with Mr. Ryerson only takes a few minutes. He'd already had an idea of what he'd wanted, after all. Plans are kind of his thing.

"And you're sure you're comfy with charging this to a credit card? An awful lot of interest is going to be generated over two life sentences."

Blaine laughs a bit at that. So few people other than Kurt talk to him like a person and understand that this whole jail thing is a grand _joke_.

"Trust me, the money's good. Just make sure everything is exactly as I specified, on Tuesday at eleven, no sooner, no later."

"Tuesday at eleven. Got it."

"Excellent. Thank you, Mr. Ryerson."

Blaine let himself be led to his cell after that. He detested the place of course. Someone who thrives on attention like he does isn't cut out for solitary confinement.

It'll be okay though. He just has to wait until Tuesday.

* * *

Blaine hated Dalton. It had its upsides, of course. His place at the school provided him with plenty of opportunities. After all, at a school like this, money and status mean power, and he has plenty of both, too much for his own good, honestly. Here, he's in charge, and well, that's his favorite thing, to be in charge. It's why he does what he does, why he's become what he's become.

That's another place where Dalton comes in handy. Dalton is, first and foremost, a reputation. People from Dalton are educated, well-behaved. Dalton boys would never sneak out to clubs and seduce innocent victims. Dalton boys would never wield a knife more comfortably than a pen. It's just not what they do. Nobody would ever suspect….

He still hates Dalton. He makes do, though. Besides, the security is severely lacking. That's why he has as many opportunities as he does.

It's his first night out in a while. He'd had a ridiculous level of trig homework lately, but Mr. Harris is going to be out tomorrow, so he can get away with skipping for tonight. He won't be able to focus until he takes the edge off anyway.

He chooses Scandals for his hunting ground tonight. He tends to frequent regular bars, since there are more of them and he's not really bias when it comes to prey, but he wants a little extra sometimes, and this is one of those times.

As soon as he gets there, he can tell something interesting is going to happen. It's in the air; he can feel it pulsating with the music, in time with the lights. Something's coming.

He knows what his instincts are all excited for as soon as he's in the bar, as soon as he lays eyes on him.

The boy is just precious. He sits up tall, with good, confident posture but he's tense, so tense and Blaine can see right through it. His drink isn't alcohol, or it's at least alcohol drowned in coke, probably diet. So, either he's new to the scene or he's the designated driver for someone. He's not paying much attention to the dance floor, though, so it's probably the first option. He's just sipping at his drink, taking curious peeks every now and then around the bar. Blaine smirks.

This is the boy for tonight.

He starts towards him, but then he changes his mind. There's something different about this one, something special. He wants to draw it out. Wait.

So he does, because he always does what he feels deep inside he should do, even if his brain tells him he's being an idiot. The boy could leave, or meet someone else to go home with. He could.

But he doesn't. Blaine watches him for almost an hour, and the boy doesn't move the entire time. A cute little blonde tries to chat him up and buys him a different, flashier drink, acting ridiculous and just crying out for attention. The boy just smiles at him and sends him away, laughing a bit at the pout he gets in return. The interaction sets Blaine's blood to boil.

When the boy thinks nobody's looking, his face gets serious, too serious for the average high schooler. It's interesting.

He ignores anyone who gets near him, pushing them away without hesitation but with plenty of annoyance. Eventually people start to leave him alone, but advances continue from afar. He's been sent three different drinks since he's been here, and oh, doesn't that spark an idea.

It takes twenty damn dollars to get the total dick of a bartender to cooperate, but eventually he snorts and complies, muttering something about pussies that Blaine's glad he didn't hear. It wouldn't do to lose his temper in public.

He watches the boy at the bar.

Kurt's first trip to Scandals was a nice enough one. He'd gone with Chandler, when Chandler was still the cute, flirty guy from the music store who asked him dancing.

"Hey, Mr. Garland, would you allow me the honor of buying you a beverage?"

He'd smiled and laughed, giving a small bow as Chandler grabbed his elbow and dragged him to the bar.

"So, what'll it be?" Chandler asks, grabbing a small printout and looking over the drink titles with excited eyes. Kurt shrugs.

"I don't know, what do you think?"

"Ummmm…..Do you like cherries? It has something called a 'Cherry Chaser'?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow and smiles.

"Sounds fruity and delicious."

"Just like you, babe."

He pushes the other boy for that, but giggles along. Chandler buys that for him and gets himself something called a Penis Colada, just for an excuse to shout out the name. Kurt's embarrassed by association, but can't help nearly drowning in his own laughter all the same. A burly, leather-clad man serves them, looking them over with a wink. It's scary, but exciting to have attention from someone like him, even if he convinces himself it's just playful and not serious.

"Kurt, oh my God! Look at my straw!"

He does, and it's fortunate that he hasn't tasted his own drink yet, because he's certain he'd have ended up choking.

"You're straw is a penis. You have a penis straw."

Chandler is vibrating with glee.

"Right? This is the most amazing place. This is the most amazing night. We should get you one, and then we'll both have them as souvenirs! Omg, we can make a scrapbook!"

Kurt rolls his eyes.

"That would be the most horrifying scrapbook in existence. Not only that, but if my dad found it he'd probably lock me in my room. For all eternity," he ends in a dark, dramatic voice, trying to keep his face serious.

Chandler grins, leaning his elbow on the bar and his chin in his hand.

"I bet your room would be a fabulous place to spend eternity."

"It is rather tastefully done, I must say," he admits, pretending to brush stray hairs away from his face.

Chandler laughs, scooting closer.

"Care for a dance, good sir?"

Kurt shifts his eyes to the dance floor, surveying it suspiciously. These men are….they aren't like him and Chandler. They're older, and bigger, and their eyes aren't full of promises of rainbows and puppies like Chandler, and he's pretty sure that if he were a girl he'd already be pregnant just from his proximity to the extreme grinding going on a few feet away. Chandler nudges his shoulder.

"Are you nervous?"

Kurt looks back to him, biting his lip.

"Maybe a little."

Chandler waggles his eyebrows.

"Not for long."

It takes the blonde boy about two seconds to get Kurt hyperventilating in his seat, trying to breathe between laughter he's trying to hide. Apparently his plan for making the threat of large sweaty men less terrifying is to push his way to the center of them and flail wildly, yelling out the lyrics to some sexy song blasting through the club and ruining any of the tune's allure. (Whether or not that part's intentional Kurt couldn't say.)

It works. Kurt takes a gulp of his drink. (Which is the most delicious thing he's ever tasted and why hasn't he gotten another?)

They dance for the remainder of their time there, which isn't long, because no way in hell is he staying out past eleven when he has a father to cook breakfast for and standards for his skin that are higher than the moon. It's fun though, especially when the other patrons laugh at their antics and occasionally join in. They only stop to sip on their drinks, and occasionally whisper about some of the cuter clientele.

When he gets home, he jumps straight into the shower. Fun as it was, the bar and dancing made him smell like Craigslist and cherries, and he couldn't let anyone figure out that he hadn't exactly been having a movie marathon with Tina.

Right before he settles down to sleep, he gets a text.

_Next Friday, Mr. Garland? Same time, same place?_

He grins, immediately texting back.

_Oh definitely. I never did get my own straw…_

* * *

It's not as fun next Friday. He ends up getting thrown into lockers nearly three times as much as usual, something about a big game in God knows what sport and how throwing around the queer was good luck. His head hurts and the pounding of the music doesn't stop, so he just drinks. He glances at Chandler every now and then, and he really is being bad company, but he's just so sad, and he can't place a finger on why.

He gets a diet coke after two of those cherry drinks, mostly because they're expensive.

He has the insane feeling of being watched, but it's probably just Chandler. He knows the other boy's worried, especially since he freaked out in the car about him being clinically depressed, but he's got the sense to give him some space.

Chandler even manages to control himself for a solid thirty minutes until he comes over, striking a suave pose and ordering them both a Penis Colada.

"You do need your souvenir, after all." He winks. The drinks come out, and Chandler yells "Suck it!" so loudly that a few men nearby hear it and make lewd comments. He pushes Chandler away, embarrassed, but he's had enough to drink that he drinks it anyway, savoring the sweetness and ignoring the jeers.

"So, have I loosened you up enough to get you dancing, or do we need more illicit tropical drinks?" Chandler laughs, placing a hand on his shoulder. Kurt sighs.

"I'm sorry. I'm not any fun, am I?"

"Of course you are! I mean, generally."

Kurt rolls his eyes.

"Just go dance without me. My head hurts a bit, that's all."

Chandler immediately looks so concerned, and it really amazes him how quickly the boy can change emotions.

"Oh my God, I've totally been ignoring you! Do you want me to drive you home? Or we could go somewhere quieter?"

"There is not a place on this earth that would be quiet with you."

Chandler pouts.

"Well fine then, Captain Snarky-pants, maybe I'll just go to that Burberry sale alone. Humph!" He turns on his heel on that note, marching away playfully. Kurt chuckles, but as soon as the blonde boy is gone he's right back into his state of weird, depressed yet not. It sucks.

Ten minutes later the barkeeper, Bernie, sometimes China, as he'd introduced himself, serves him up an interesting looking purple drink in a fancy glass with a few little blackberries floating on top.

"What's this?" he asks, because short of forgetting he ordered it, he can't figure out why it's being pushed into his hands. Bernie just shrugs, handing him a folded napkin before he walks off. He raises an eyebrow and unfolds it.

_Hello, beautiful._

_This is a drink of my own creation, and you have no idea how difficult it was to walk your bear of a bartender through making it. I call it a Razzle Dazzle, but I'm open to suggestions. I hope it takes your mind off whatever's bothering you, baby. I suspect school, am I right?_

_I hope you like it, angel. _

_-B_

His interest was caught with the first word. He looked around the club, trying to catch the eye of whoever wrote him. He catches a few eyes, but none that he particularly wants. He's about to give up and ask Bernie when a hand covers his eyes from behind. He smiles.

"Chan, this isn't the best time."

"Is Chan your blonde friend?"

The voice is deep, more so then Chandler's, and Kurt tries to turn and look, but another arm wraps around him and holds him in place.

"Don't startle, beautiful. I just wanted to see if you liked your drink, that's all."

Kurt breathes heavily through his nose.

"You sent it to me?"

"Mmm, yeah. Do you like it?"

He can feel the man shift behind him.

"Aw, you didn't even try it, baby."

"I was preoccupied," he bites back.

"I know. You wanted to find me."

"I wish I hadn't. You're creepy as hell."

"I'm not going to hurt you, angel," the man behind him says, and it's softer than before, more serious. "You don't need to be scared."

"I'm not," he insists, and the man is quiet for a minute. Kurt feels something cool and wet press at his lips, something sweet-smelling and bumpy.

"Go ahead, baby. It's just a blackberry."

Kurt opens his mouth slightly, and the man pushes the small fruit between his lips.

Kurt doesn't even realize the sound of pleasure he makes at the taste until he hears a chuckle from above.

"Is it good?"

Kurt blushes, but he's got enough alcohol in his system that he makes a decision right there to play this coy, to be _attractive._

"It's decent." His voice comes out a bit breathy, but he doesn't stutter. The man squeezes him tighter, tsking.

"You little liar," he breathes, and this breath is hot against Kurt's neck.

He can't hide the shudder that passes through him. Glass presses at his mouth, and this time he opens up willingly. The drink is silky and smooth, running over his tongue and down his throat, leaving the sweetest aftertaste. The man pours to the edge of too much, but then he sets the glass down on the bar with a small clink.

"Still just decent?" he asks.

Kurt doesn't answer. The music is becoming background noise, and he's caught up in sensation, the hand covering his eyes and the arm wrapped snug around his waist feel solid and exciting, and the drink has made him feel loose all of a sudden, his cheeks warm with his blood throbbing in his veins.

There's a weight on his head that he manages to deduce through his haze must be the man's chin. There's a shift and lips press against his hair. They stay like that for a moment, and Kurt's too relaxed to even try and shove him off. He's pretty sure he doesn't want to anymore anyway.

Eventually the man moves, bringing his mouth to Kurt's ear.

"You're so beautiful. What's your name, pretty boy?"

"Kurt," he whispers softly, and now he's slumped back against the man behind him. He doesn't care.

"Kurt."

"Yeah. Can I…what's your name?"

The man behind him tenses, Kurt's not out of it enough not to feel that.

There's a soft kiss on his neck, followed by more a few seconds later.

"Meet me here tomorrow, Kurt. Don't bring your blonde friend."

Kurt shudders as the man resumes teasing his neck, giving light little nibbles with his lips.

"W-what time?"

"I'll text you," the man dismisses him, more focused on pale skin and tiny whimpers. Kurt sighs, letting his questions go and basking in the attention. His head is so fuzzy, so, so fuzzy, but he doesn't care. He's drowning in pleasure, closing his eyes and leaning back against a solid, warm body. He's still on a barstool, but he tries the best he can to grind back, to feel that this other person is being affected at least a fraction as much as he is. He wants to be sexy, to be desired, and he_ is_, because there's heat and hardness pressing against him and _God-_

"Kurt!"

There's a yell from somewhere far, far away, and it doesn't bother him. The heat moving away from him does though.

"_Noooo,"_ he whines, trying to hang on to the man. _His _man, damn it.

"Hush, Kurt. You'll be here tomorrow. I mean it, get down here or I'll come find you."

"You, y-you promise?" he pouts, swaying on the stool now that he doesn't have anything to support himself.

"Promise."

There's a kiss to his forehead, and then he's alone. He slumps down, nearly falling off the chair, but someone catches him.

"Kurt! Oh my God, Kurt, you're too hot!"

"You-you think so?" he slurs, giggling.

"Holy can't hold your liquor, Batman, how much did you drink? Kurt!"

He really does end up on the floor this time. He's about the same height as Chandler, but he's got broader shoulders and more muscles, and he's a dead weight, toppling to the floor in a fit of giggles.

"Kurt? You're eyes look funny. I…are you on drugs? How did you even….did you go to the bathroom? I TOLD YOU SHADY THINGS HAPPEN IN BATHROOMS OF THIS TYPE OF ESTABLISHMENT! Oh, crap, you have to be home. I, Kurt, I gotta get you home. Holy crap, your dad is gonna be so pissed. I can't lie for you; I'm not good under pressure! Fuck a _duck…."_

The last thing Kurt remembers from that night is Chandler's face of pain after he tries to pull out his own hair.

* * *

The next night, Blaine returns to Scandals.

He'd been high strung all day, partly from denying himself the fun and release he'd been expecting the night before, and partly because he'd been counting down the moments until he'd be able to hold his Kurt again.

He frowns into his drink. Kurt is his; he's got complete control over the other boy's life, after all. He's just not completely sure what he wants to do with it. He'll probably know once he sees him.

The problem is, he doesn't see him. He waits in his corner until closing time, eyes never leaving the door. His Kurt never shows.

* * *

**AN: So, that was chapter one. Some things were left unexplained on purpose, because stuff will be explained as Kurt learns it. Or learned it...**

**The story is supposed to remain in this format kind of, with flashbacks written in present tense showing Blaine and Kurt meet and develop their relationship, with one part or so in the time frame starting from when Blaine's in jail/the story's present. I hope that's not confusing; I'm not the best at explaining things.**

**Reviews would mean a lot to me, but no pressure or anything.**

**(Also, I adore Chandler. He's going to hang around. Advice on if I'm writing him okay is appreciated, because we've only gotten two minutes and a few texts to go off of.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: More of a filler, but I'm a bit fond of it, actually. I like anything that lets me put in mentions of overprotective dad Burt and the fact that Finn, Kurt and Sam are living together as bros. **

**Thanks for the reviews, by the way, they're super nice. Feel free to request stuff you want me to write (prompts, ect.) if you care to. (Not trying to say someone would particularly want to read what I write, but I get bored. And I'm bad at focusing on just one thing for long.)**

* * *

How Cleveland's Ohio State Prison manages to be both humid and freezing Blaine doubts he'll ever know. He asked once and got food thrown on him, and right before he was due to meet Kurt, too. He never did take care of the guy who did it, as he'd been distracted with cleaning himself at the time, and after his visit he'd been much too distracted with thoughts of his Kurt.

Maybe he can squeeze Victor Ramsey in on Tuesday….

He shakes his head to clear the thoughts. No. He can't risk Tuesday.

"Anderson!"

He's been expecting a call, so he doesn't ignore the guard like he usually does. He typically refuses to acknowledge anyone other than Charles, simply because it unnerves the man, but this is much too important.

It takes them five fucking minutes to get him to the damn phone, but he's gotten used to their inefficiency by now, so much that it's only a minor annoyance at this point.

He glares at the oaf who thrusts the phone roughly into his hands, before taking a deep breath and adopting a smile. If it's who he thinks it is, he'll be much more frustrating this way.

"Hello?"

_"Listen you fucking little bastard, you stay the hell away from my boy."_

Blaine's smile becomes more genuine at the angry whisper.

"Mr. Hummel," he greets. "I see Kurt got his present."

There's yelling on the other line, a lot of it, and he can pick out Burt and Finn each. There's a few other boys too, ones he can't recognize. He can feel himself getting annoyed. The yelling goes on for a minute, and he can hear the phone be grappled over. He sighs, holding the phone away from his ear with distaste. With one final pass the yelling increases and a door slams.

_"Blaine?"_

He smiles. There's his boy, soft but undeniably angry.

"Hey, sweetheart. I missed you."

_"Why is my father screaming at you over the phone?"_

He laughs a little. Straight to the point, as always.

"They didn't give you your present, then? I put a lot of effort into that."

He can almost hear the trepidation in Kurt's voice as he answers.

_"What was it?"_

* * *

The first present Blaine sends is nothing special.

He goes to that florist on Cadence Avenue, the one within the lovely old house but that has a crappy inside. There's a metaphor in that, and he's always been fond of metaphors.

The flowers are simple, purples and whites and deep red.

He gets them to put in some blackberries.

* * *

Kurt woke up after his night at Scandals in a bed that definitely isn't his.

His head is throbbing and his body feels fuzzy and he can't figure out why, just knows that he feels funny and then heaves over, emptying his stomach.

When he sits up is when he realizes that the deep blue sheets he's tangled in aren't his. He panics, trying to scramble out, but he just ends up tripping himself and ending up on the floor, his head pounding even more.

Burt hears the fall from just outside the door, where he keeps lingering despite Carol's insistence that he's just putting stress on his heart by doing so.

He finds his son on the floor, and he'd been planning to yell and bang pots around like his parents did when he'd come home wasted. Kurt's face, though, it's not right.

"Buddy?"

Kurt looks up at him, eyes watering, and he's much too weak because he doesn't think he can yell when the kid looks like that.

"Dad?" he asks, and shit, he sounds like he's about to cry. "Daddy, I don't know what happened."

Now he is crying, and it's so unlike him that something that blonde punk with the stupid hat that came stumbling through the door at two o'clock in the morning with his only child giggling and falling over had said before he'd gone for his rifle and the kid took off.

_I think someone might have maybe drugged him._

He'd been pissed at Kurt for drinking so much, but it was starting to look like something else might be going on.

It doesn't take him too long to transfer him down the stairs and to the couch in the living room. The kid can't even walk, so he has to carry him, and won't he get an earful for that later…

Kurt doesn't regain his senses until nearly nine o'clock that night. It's been a day of tears, hallucinations, and an extremely awkward few minutes in which he's refused to let go of Sam. Burt doesn't know what to make of it exactly, but he's lost his anger for Kurt and redirected it to that blonde kid and whatever complete dipshit that had tried to _prey_ upon his little boy.

He still watches carefully as Kurt sits in on whatever videogame Finn and Sam are playing, trying to see if he'll say something about the ordeal. He wouldn't hear about it until days later if Kurt remembered anything if he didn't hover.

" 'M not sure if it was some date-rapey thing that you had a bad reaction to, or some horrible mixture of ecstasy and cocaine or what, but it wasn't good, dude," Finn mumbles from around a mouthful of twizzlers.

"It wasn't that bad," Sam offers. "Except for the part where you kinda molested me."

"Oh, God, say I didn't," Kurt pleads, and Sam looks down.

"Well, it was mostly a lot of hair action, because you didn't have the control to work my jeans open."

Kurt just flops down face-first on top of Finn's mattress, groaning.

"Please tell me I didn't do anything else."

They're quiet for a minute, until Finn breaks the silence by snickering.

"You made your dad protect you from the closet monster."

* * *

Kurt goes to bed soon after, torn between humiliation and fear. _Someone did this to him._

He tries to think back to the bar now that he's alone in the quiet with his right mind. He doesn't have the most confidence in many of the patrons, but he does of Bernie, and he can't think how anyone could have done this to him. Chandler had been the only one to handle his….

Oh.

_There's a tight arm around his waist, and hot breath on his neck. He feels like he's floating, flying, and then it all goes blank._

B.

But he couldn't have, could he? He didn't make the drink, Bernie had.

_But,_ his mind supplied, _he did pour it down your throat while keeping you blindfolded._

God, he's so stupid. And naive. And he's pretty sure he threw up in Chandler's Kia.

His eyes pop open.

Chandler. Shit, his dad probably tried to kill him.

It takes him forever to find his phone. He doesn't want to know why it's on top of the coat rack by the stairs, but it is. It's almost out of battery when he gets it, but there are six new messages.

_Kurt! Ok, ONE, you did not tell me your father is a mirror image of Neapolitan Mastiff, and TWO, you better not die. _

_Sine you're an angel, you wouldn't gain anything from going to heaven. And I'd miss you._

_And you live with too many large men who would track me down and shoot me. _

-Chandler Gatiss, 12:37 AM

_Seriously though, don't die. LY!_

-Chandler Gatiss, 12:38 AM

He smiles. Chandler always makes him smile. He scrolls through the other messages. One's from Mercedes, freaking out because apparently Sam can't keep his mouth shut.

The other three are from a blocked number.

_8:00 tonight. Scandals. ~B_

-BLOCKED, 3:17 PM

_Kurt, baby, you really don't want to ignore me. ~B_

-BLOCKED, 9:37 PM

_Alright, angel, I'll play, just don't expect to win. ~B_

-BLOCKED, 10:03 PM

He just stares at the phone. He thinks he can recall something about his mystery man promising to text before running off, but he can't be sure.

He knows he shouldn't encourage this, he really does. He should call Chandler, apologize for whatever he did, and then let himself be drowned in musical references and compliments.

He texts B instead.

_How'd you get my number?_

-Sent at 11:09 PM

_You were a little out of it, sweetheart. ~B_

-BLOCKED, 11:11 PM

He can feel anger rise up in his throat.

_Besides, I had to contact you to tell you about our date, which you did not attend. I expect you to make it up to me. ~B_

-BLOCKED, 11:12 PM

He sends a number of angry, accusing texts afterwords, but he gets no response. It's fine. He doesn't care.

* * *

Blaine sighs as he reads over Kurt's texts. It's not that he's particularly bothered by any of the curses and accusations thrown his way; it's the fact that he's doing this at all. He should just accept that he missed his chance to excite and exterminate the boy discreetly, and leave it be.

He can't though. He can't stop seeing those glassy blue eyes and tasting that sweet skin, feeling the tight core under his arm and the silky hair against his lips. He needs to admit that this is more than just a target, but something more, something special. He needs Kurt to be there, vunerable and spread out and begging for him. He needs those eyes to meet his own, to look at him with a desire for touch, love, safety. He wants to give it to him, to give him the world, to give him anything.

He breathes out through his nose, closing his eyes. He could give Kurt anything he wanted; Security, clothes, trips, power, anything he could possibly hope for, except love. He's incapable of giving that, if his hunch about himself is right. He's seldom wrong about that kind of thing.

Kurt is a bad influence on him. It's been one day, and what can barely be considered two conversations, and already he's making incriminating connections wit this boy. He couldn't kill him.

Not even if you wanted to, a voice in his head whispers, and he mentally tells it to shut the fuck up.

He could kill Kurt. He just doesn't want to, at the moment, because he could be traced.

He grabs a new card from the display, scrawling a new message and throwing it at the old oriental woman behind the florist's counter. He already paid.

He's out the door before he can turn himself around and change his mind.

* * *

Kurt forces himself to go to school Monday, despite his father's several insistances that he's now to be homeschooled.

He hasn't heard back from B, and he's positive that that's for the best. After all, he's probably an attemoted rapist, not to mention rude as hell and abrasive.

He doesn't go to his locker until after third period, when he absolutely has to switch out his books. He finds the flowers immediately. They're beautiful. He feels that tiny bit of pure happiness he used to feel when he was little and fantasized about Batman saving him from his first grade class and taking him on a picnic. He pushes it down as best he can, trying not to let his smile get too wide. There's always the possibility they're meant for someone else, like that time Finn left a heart teddy bear for Rachel in his locker without telling him. He'd been overwhelmingly happy for the five minutes he'd thought he'd had a secret admirer, before Finn had crushed that dream. (Sam had given him a flower he picked later that day, probably thinking Kurt hadn't seen the slap he aimed at the back of Finn's oversized head.)

At any rate, he knows better than to get his hopes up. He checks the card this time.

_I really do want that date. Show up tonight at Scandals? Please?_

_~B_

Kurt isn't stupid. He's not going to go.

Not _alone_, anyway.

* * *

**AN: This seems a bit all over the place to me. I needed a middle section-thingy to piece together the last chapter and the one after this, though, I promise the next part makes more sense.**

**Thanks for the reviews, by the way. They're really sweet. I appreciate them more then you know.**

**ALSO! Blaine is kinda flippy with his moods, which is based a bit on myself when I didn't have my bipolar disorder under control. (I was never murderous, though, so don't worry.)**

**I sound weird and creepy now. _Awesome._** **Oh, though if you are bipolar or possibly bipolar or have problems with your sexuality or depression or whatever, I'm completely willing to listen to your problems. Been there, and all.**


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